Title: One Broken Line

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: Written for a Prompt: What happens when an anti-possession tattoo is damaged? Nothing good. Post 8x14 "Trial and Error" hurt!Sam caring!Dean to the rescue!Cas

Author's Note: This was a fantastic request from Jenjoremy that caught my attention and suddenly had to be written. :D Her prompt was essentially for possessed Dean, Sam in the trunk and hurt, limp, tortured Sam. Heh heh heh This story is complete in 3 chapters.

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~

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Chapter 1

Sam leaned back in the grave against the earthen wall and wiped sweat out of his eyes with his sleeve. They were perhaps four feet down of the six they needed to dig to find the coffin of Steven Abernathy, late electrician and now spirit with a penchant for zapping his victims unconscious.

"You gonna stand there all damn day or keep digging?" Dean growled.

Sam raised a brow and got back to work. He didn't say anything, electing to keep his head down. His brother had been unusually touchy the last several days, even for Dean. Sam thought it was because of the first trial. He knew Dean was still bothered that Sam had ended up on the front line yet again, and he wasn't sure there was any other way he could reassure his brother that it was alright and convince him of that. Sam sighed and then grunted in surprise when Dean shoved him into the wall of the grave.

"Dude, what?" Sam asked in frustration.

"Dig faster, dammit. I do NOT wanna be here all night because your ass is slacking off." Dean snarled it angrily. "Or have you forgotten we've got more important things to do?"

"Jesus, Dean. Calm down." Sam rolled his eyes and tossed another shovelful of dirt out.

"Calm…right." Dean dropped his shovel and jumped his brother. "This song and dance just got old." He took a firm, biting hold of Sam's shoulders and shoved him.

Sam gasped in surprise as his brother slammed him back into the wall of the grave. "Dean! What the…get off!" He shoved at his brother's hands, not wanting to hurt him, but was quickly losing patience with being manhandled for God only knew what reason, having no idea what he had done to piss Dean off THIS time.

"A week, Sam." Dean gave him another slam into the grave. "Been on your ass for a damn week and I've got nothing to show for it. Not good enough."

"Dean, what the hell are you talking about?" Sam stared and had only a moment to see the flicker of metal in the moonlight before he froze with the sharp edge of the demon killing knife suddenly pressed against his throat. Sam's annoyance was instantly replaced by fear as every alarm bell in his brain sounded at full volume. "Dean?" The only response was the blade being pressed further into his skin, and an icy cold smirk spreading over Dean's face.

Sam didn't even want to consider the possibility, but…"Christo." Sam watched as his brother's body twitched, his eyes suddenly filled with inky blackness and he realized just how much trouble he was really in. Horror dropped into his stomach like a weight, sucking the air out of him, while Dean smiled, blinking those awful eyes down at him.

"That's right, Sammy-boy." Dean chuckled and pushed harder, cutting a shallow slice and grinned at the small trickle of blood.

"Not possible." Sam protested, even with the truth of it staring him in the face. "You're…Dean's protected. The tattoo…"

"Only works if it's intact," Dean snorted and took one hand from Sam to tug down the neck of his shirt and bare the tattoo. "Bottom left corner. That hell hound that clawed him up? Got a lucky shot and just nicked the bottom." He laughed again when he saw Sam's eyes focus on the small cut through the black ink. "You know, considering just how important these things are for you two, you really don't check them all that often to make sure they're intact."

Sam's eyes were stuck on the smallest scratch in his brother's anti-possession charm. It was almost impossible to see it was so small, but it was enough. "Oh, God, Dean. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Sam breathed out, horrified that he'd missed it…that he hadn't realized, and his brother had been trapped for a week. He stared into the black eyes and hoped Dean could hear him. "Exorci…mmph!"

The thing that was not Dean slammed a hand over Sam's mouth and rolled his eyes. "Like that's gonna happen." His smile turned to a glare as he stared down the younger Winchester. "Here's how it's gonna go, Sammy. You're gonna keep your damn mouth shut, 'cause I promise you can't get an exorcism out faster than I can kill you…" He smiled dangerously and leaned closer. "…or kill your brother." He nodded when Sam's eyes widened fearfully and he saw the moment Sam acquiesced. "Good boy," he said and took his hand away.

"What do you want?" Sam asked softly. "Take me instead. I won't fight you if you just let Dean go. He doesn't deserve this." He meant it. His brother had suffered enough and Sam would willingly play host to the demon if it saved him, but Dean shook his head.

"Call me paranoid, but I'm willin' to bet whatever this trial's doing to you would probably stop me using you as a meat suit." Dean snorted.

That thought hadn't occurred to Sam and it surprised him. He believed the trials were in the process of purifying him in some way, and, if that were true, then a demon would be unable to survive inside him.

The demon continued, ""And even if it didn't, you think I'm dumb enough to risk crawling inside the guy who managed to take down Lucifer? We're still trying to figure out how you pulled THAT off."

Despite the situation, Sam actually rolled his eyes. "So what now? What do you want?"

"I want to know everything you know about these trials." Dean shrugged. "I've been all through your brother's head and clearly, you're the one doing all the research." He smirked. "We're gonna have a nice long chat, Sammy." His smirk became a grin when Sam scowled at his using that name again. Dean leaned back, grabbed his shoulder, and spun Sam into the wall. He had the knife back at his throat at the same moment, discouraging any attempt at fighting that he might be considering. "Hands behind your back. Now."

Sam felt the blade on his skin again and knew he had to free himself. If he could knock his brother out, he could exorcise the demon. He swallowed hard, shifted his arms as though complying, and rammed his elbow into his brother's stomach with a silent apology.

Dean grunted and the demon smiled, expecting it. He pulled the knife back and slammed the hilt into the back of Sam's head, letting the man slide into the open grave bonelessly. "Told you not to fight me." He put the knife in his jacket and took out the handcuffs he'd pocketed days ago. He'd been waiting for Sam to figure him out and it surprised him that he'd gotten away with his deception as long as he had. He quickly secured Sam's wrists behind his back, chuckling while Sam twisted groggily, not entirely conscious just yet. "This would have been a lot easier on me if you'd cooperated." He groaned and pulled up the deceptively heavy young man, rolling and pushing him out of the grave onto the dirt-covered grass beside it.

Sam blinked furiously as the pain in the back of his head began to ebb, and he tried to roll to his back. He groaned, finding his wrists cuffed. "Dammit," he said softly and hoped they both lived long enough for Dean to give him crap about being caught out so damn easily.

"Don't make me hurt you, Sammy." Dean grinned and stepped on the small of Sam's back, pressing his boot heel in until the man groaned in pain. "Well, more than I'm already going to anyway." He took his foot off and dragged Sam up, holding on to his arms so he didn't fall back down. "Move."

Sam stumbled and staggered across the graveyard toward the Impala with the demon holding his arm in a painful grip. He was trying desperately tried to think of a way to get them out of this. There had to be a way that didn't involve killing Dean because THAT was not even on the table. He'd failed his brother in every way possible while Dean was trapped in Purgatory, and it didn't matter to Sam that he hadn't known, that he'd thought Dean was dead and in Heaven. It only mattered that he'd been wrong, and, once again, Dean had suffered because of it.

"Still trying to figure out how to get me out of your brother without ganking him? Tough. You can't." Dean shoved Sam into the side of the Impala hard and leaned over with the keys to open the trunk. He pulled Sam around and roughly shoved him inside. "Don't screw with me, Winchester. You know what happens." Dean grabbed up one of the rags from the bottom of the trunk, took a bruising grip of Sam's jaw, and shoved it in his mouth. "Can't have you shouting out an exorcism from in here while I'm driving. Might actually have time to finish it before I could get to you." Dean gave him that evil smile again and reached in, unbuckling Sam's belt. He laughed when the younger man began to struggle furiously.

"Oh, shut up. I'm not gettin' fresh." Dean yanked the belt out harshly and rolled his eyes. He quickly looped it around Sam's head and pulled it tight so it held the gag in place with the leather visibly biting into his cheeks. He looped it around itself and stood back with a smile. "That oughta shut your ass up while I'm driving. Get comfy."

Sam shouted around the foul-tasting gag as the trunk slammed closed. He let his head drop back with a thump and a groan for the leather of his own damn belt biting painfully into his face. He closed his eyes and prayed to Castiel in the vain hope the angel would hear him and be able to find them. The angel was anything but reliable lately for reasons Sam couldn't begin to think of. He prayed anyway because it was all he had left.

Sam had nothing to do but hurt and think in the trunk. His whole body was one massive ache from being squeezed into the too-small space for his over-long frame, and it was becoming difficult to breathe. The trunk wasn't airtight, but Sam's bulk left little room for fresh air to collect. It was claustrophobic, and he spent more time and energy than he probably should have uselessly trying to kick the trunk open. Dean had personally reinforced it to hold the occasional demon, complete with a devil's trap spray-painted on the inside. He banged his knee painfully on the underside of the trunk and twisted his head, for a moment feeling the onset of panic as he couldn't take a deep enough breath through his nose. His own belt dug painfully into his skin, and he could feel the cuffs, which had been fastened cruelly tight, cutting into his wrists. Using the pain to ground himself, he managed to find calm after a minute. Freaking out wasn't going to do him or his brother any good.

He squirmed, moaning as his shoulders pulled painfully, until he was on his side. Sam worked to find room for one leg and had a go at kicking out one of the tail lights. Dean would kill him for it, and Sam sobbed a laugh into the gag hopelessly. In the end it didn't matter, since he couldn't get the proper leverage with his long legs anyway.

It scared Sam that the demon knew about the Men of Letters bunker now. They had been back once in the last week, and Sam remembered how Dean had vanished for hours at a time in a sudden fit of curiosity to explore the place. Even if Sam was able to exorcise the demon, that would only send it back to hell where that knowledge would quickly spread through the ranks. No; he had to find a way to get his hands on the knife to kill it and as quickly as he thought it, he discarded it. Using the knife would kill Dean as well and that wasn't an option.

After what seemed like hours, but was probably only about 45 minutes, Sam felt the car slam to a stop, throwing him painfully against the unyielding metal. He heard the familiar squeak of the door opening, and could feel the car shift as the demon got out. Sam blinked furiously in the glare of a streetlight when the trunk opened and saw the wall of some large building beyond Dean.

"Set this place up days ago," Dean said conversationally as he grabbed Sam and hauled him out of the trunk letting him thump to the ground mercilessly. "Oops." He grinned and picked him back up. "I was gonna wait and see how long it took you to sniff me out, but frankly, I got bored. Here we go."

Sam tried to catch himself while Dean opened a door and shoved him through and staggered on legs wobbly from being bent in the trunk for so long. His shoulders burned with pain from the unnatural angle of his arms being secured behind him, and he was sure he could feel a trickle of blood on his face from the belt. He looked around warily as lights flickered on and balked when Dean shoved him toward a single chair in the large room. Behind it stood a table covered in blue cloth, and Sam knew there was nothing good hiding under that cloth.

"Move." Dean pushed him to the chair and forced him down into it. He made quick work of tying Sam to it with the restraints already in place and stood back to survey his handiwork with a smile and a nod. "You won't be getting out of those knots." He chuckled and tapped his head. "I've picked up a few pointers being in here. Your brother's got a talent for tying knots."

Sam closed his eyes and tried not to cry out in pain as his belt was suddenly yanked and pulled from his face. He felt skin tear and more blood seep down his cheeks and then the cloth was pulled from his mouth to let him finally take a good, deep breath and cough.

"Who…who the hell are you?" Sam asked finally as the demon in his brother's body knelt in front of him and smiled.

"A loyalist." Dean answered simply and raised a brow, waiting. He nodded and chuckled the moment he saw the realization on Sam's face.

"Lucifer." Sam said softly with a sinking feeling. "You were…loyal to Lucifer."

"Got it in one." Dean stood and threw his arms out. "But then YOU came along and shot the whole damn plan to hell…literally."

Sam grunted, seeing stars when Dean's fist connected suddenly with the side of his head.

"Would'a been a good time, Sammy!" Dean said angrily and then swallowed the temper back. "But, that's in the past, which has left me with a problem. You see…" He knelt in front of him again. "…hell has a new king, Crowley, that pathetic excuse for a crossroads demon." Dean spat on the floor and rolled his eyes. "Sadly, pathetic or not, he's in charge and I'm tired of running. That pretentious little asshole's been hunting down every loyalist he can find and killing us."

"Good," Sam said firmly and smiled at him. "I hope he nails every damn one of you."

Dean laughed and stood, going around behind Sam to the table. "Interesting choice of words. See, I need to bring something to the table, Sam. I need bargaining chips, and I'm pretty sure knowing the brothers Winchester are planning on slamming the gates of hell and how…" Dean chuckled. "…Oh, I think that'll get me off the most wanted list, don't you?"

Sam dropped his head and shook it. "I'm not telling you anything."

Dean flipped the cloth off the table and surveyed the array of small knives and tools he'd assembled with a smile. "Oh, I bet you do." He picked up three long, slender nails and a hammer, deciding to start small. "I bet you're singing for me inside of an hour."

Sam listened to his brother moving behind him and flinched when a hand landed on his shoulder. "Dean, if you're in there, if you can hear me, you can fight this. You can. I know you can." Sam's voice held a desperate intensity, hoping against hope that some of that would get through to where he knew his brother was trapped in his own mind. Sam's head went back on an agonized shout as something sharp punched down into the back of his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked over in disbelief as Dean showed him a hammer and then the sickening feeling of something being nailed into bone drove him to the edge of unconsciousness. He came back to himself with Dean holding his chin in a strong grip and smiling at him.

"No passing out, tiger." Dean laughed at Sam's angry glare, weak though it was. "Gotta give Dean some credit." He leaned back and hefted the hammer, showing Sam another long nail. "I actually felt him for a second there when I…nailed you." He chuckled at his own joke and placed the head of the next nail over the center of Sam's thigh. "He's pissed. Not strong enough to overpower me, sadly for you, but if it makes you feel any better, he's screaming right now. I think this is hurting him almost as much as it's hurting you." He brought the hammer down, driving the nail into Sam's leg and grinned again as the younger man howled and then gasped for breath.

"How many trials are there, Sam?" Dean asked and placed the next nail over the back of Sam's left hand on the arm of the chair. "You know this one's gonna hurt like a bitch. How many? Easy question I think I already know the answer to."

Sam steeled himself for the pain and shook his head. "Bite me."

"Wrong answer."

Sam screamed as the hammer forced the nail through the center of his hand, and then came the horrifying sensation of actually being nailed TO the chair. Every beat of his heart twitched the muscles in his hand and shot sparks of agony up his arm. "Shit!"

"Yep, that's gotta sting, little brother." Dean snorted and stood, going back to the table. He tossed the hammer down with a clatter and tried to decide what to use next. "I'm actually planning on making an effort not to maim you, you know. Not permanently, anyway." He chuckled. "Not saying I might not have to kill you, clearly, but assuming you tell me what I want, I'm perfectly happy leaving you and Dean up here to carry on with…whatever." He waved a hand airily.

"Wh…why?" Sam got out between clenched teeth and turned his head, trying to see his brother.

"Because you piss Crowley off." Dean said as if it should be obvious. "And that cracks me up." He took a slim-bladed, curved knife from the table and went back around where Sam could see him and tried a friendly smile. "See? You just tell me what I want, and I promise, you two idiots'll be riding off into the sunset in that hunk o' junk Dean calls a car in no time."

Sam's jaw dropped, even in his pain and he was startled into a laugh that made Dean frown. "Oh, man…he's gonna…Dean ever gets hold of you…death would be easier." He gasped to catch his breath and shook his head. "You insulted his baby. Wow." Logically, Sam knew things were bad. This was bad. He couldn't tell the demon anything and they were going to end up dead, but at that moment, he just couldn't stop laughing. It occurred to him that perhaps he was teetering on the edge of pain-induced hysteria but found it hard to care.

The demon scowled and tilted his head because he could feel an answering outrage in the back of his mind; Dean trying to fight his way to the front again, and there was insult layered over the Hunter's rage this time. "It's just a car."

"No. No, it's not." Sam said and stopped laughing abruptly. He remembered the day in Stull cemetery and the lucid moment that the Impala…the steel embodiment of his memories of a lifetime growing up in her with Dean…had saved the world. "You don't understand."

"Also don't care," the demon said and shrugged. He bent and used the small, sharp blade to cut Sam's shirts from him in pieces, not careful about nicking his skin and smiled each time Sam flinched. "I could leave these on, but then I might hit an artery without knowing it. Wouldn't want you bleeding out…not right away."

"Awesome," Sam groaned and shivered as the remnants of his shirts were torn roughly away to hang from his wrists or off the back of the chair. He decided he couldn't look at his hand without making it hurt worse. The sight of the nail pinning him to the chair was worse than the one in his thigh or the back of his shoulder.

"Huh. Probably should'a cut these off before I put this back here," Dean said, considering the nail in Sam's back that was hampering his effort to remove the man's shirts. He shrugged, took a pair of pliers from the table, and jerked the nail out of Sam's flesh with a grin for the agonized shout. He tore the remnants of cloth away and then hammered the nail back in with a laugh as Sam cried out.

Sam panted for breath and fought the black spots crawling across his vision. He was afraid of what he would wake up to if he passed out. He prayed for Castiel again, the words becoming a repeated mantra in his pain-dazed brain. Then, when he felt the small knife slicing slowly across the back of his shoulder, he screamed it. "CAS!"

Dean snorted and moved around front of Sam, watching him sob air in and out. "You think I wouldn't find a way to make sure your pet angel can't hear you? Dude…" he pulled a small bag out of his pocket and waved it in front of Sam. "…Got news for ya'. You boys have been off angel-boy's radar since I stepped in."

"God." Sam breathed and dropped his head in dismay while hopelessness washed over him and the demon laughed with his brother's voice.

"Now." Dean bit his bottom lip and carefully placed the point of the blade to the center of Sam's shoulder. "How many trials are there?"

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To Be Continued…